Numbuh Eleven Hundred
by Jill2sweet
Summary: An Operative that went against the shy nature bred into her and took action against the evils that surrounded her, filled in the holes in the memory of her past, and found out who she truly was. She was Numbuh Eleven Hundred. This is her story.
1. Introduction

_Sffffft._

Christina heard the sound of something being slid onto her desk. She looked up from her current work to see files, folders, and papers sitting across from her. She only held her glance on the stack for a second. She raised her eyes to see the face of Numbuh 903.

"Hey, Numbuh Eleventy-Hundred!" he shouted. That was the number she was christened.

"Actually, it's just—,"

"Yeah, whatever… So, I've got a party to go to. Mind finishing up my work?"

"Uh, w-well…"

"Thanks! See you later!" He yelled as he started toward the elevator and further on to the dock.

"What if I have plans, too?" she mumbled under her breath. She didn't have any, of course, but why did he assume she didn't? The thing was, _everyone_ had plans. Everyone had a party to go to. Everyone had somewhere to be tonight. Everyone but Christina, that is. Only Christina would be working on New Years Eve. She never had plans. With Numbuh 903's added on work, it looked as if she would be pulling another all-nighter--her third one this week.

But then again, she was an important part of the organization. Without her, this place would be a mess! What would they do without Christina, the organizer? Christina, the file-keeper. Christina, the planner. A grin stretched across her face as she focused on these thoughts. They encouraged her as she pulled the next file down. In large, type-writer like letters the words "CAFETERIA MENU" were printed across the top. She opened the file and read the first paragraph. Her eyebrows lowered slightly to give her a look of annoyance. _I know what they'd do without me, _she thought, _they wouldn't know what they were eating the next day._ She closed the file and pushed it aside.


	2. An Urgent Message

_The pain in her legs would not stop. Her lungs felt like they were about to burst. But she had to keep running. She couldn't stop, no matter what. She turned around another corner. When would this maze of scrap metal end? Finally, she came to two large chamber doors. She thrust the huge doors open with all of her might and collapsed as she entered the room. Her eyes were shut tight, her cheeks stained with tears. She could only listen as they read aloud. "He is faced with acts of treason and disloyalty to the Kids Next Door. He is not of decommissioning age but he disobeyed our strict up holdings, an offense which is to be punished through the act of decommission." She was forced to listen to the speech and to the children boo him as he was being walked to the decommissioning chamber. The tears were coming down harder. It was all lies. It had to be. He would never-- _

_Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep!_

The alarm clock had pulled Numbuh Eleven Hundred out of her dreams. She slowly raised her head off of one of the files to reveal a puddle of drool. She squinted her eyes as she tried to read the time on the clock. 12:00 P.M. A weary look of melancholy rested upon her face as she raised her mug of hot chocolate into the air. "Here's to another year of filing." She said aloud in a sullen voice.

Numbuh Eleven Hundred didn't always used to drink hot chocolate, y'know. Back at the Arctic Training Base she had once told her commanding officer that she drank coffee. He sent her to rehab. Apparently, only adults can drink coffee. If you drink coffee then you're like an adult. If you're like an adult, you're a threat to the organization. Therefore, no coffee for KND Operatives. They offered hot chocolate as an alternative, though. Jam-packed with sugar, it was enough to give you a boost in the morning. Besides, it's not exactly a warm climate in Antarctica; you need something to warm you up a bit.

Ah, the days at the Arctic Training Base were some of the best days of Numbuh Eleven Hundred's life. She smiled as she remembered her days there. Wait. No. She couldn't think about that. She _wouldn't_ think about that. _I left those days behind me,_ she reminded herself. It had been a year since that incident had happened. She needed to get over it. He was 12, anyway, so decommissioning wasn't too far off for him.

She perched her chin in her hand as she thought about this, placing her elbow in the center of her puddle of drool. She jerked her arm away from the wetness and groaned. Gradually, she lifted herself out of her chair and headed for the bathroom. Surely there'd be some paper towels in there. As she headed out the door an alarm sounded.

_Uh-oh, _she thought, _I know that sound._ It was the sound of an incoming transmission. An urgent one, too, because the warning lights were flashing all over the Moonbase. She whirled around and rushed over to a large machine. She looked up at the screen. The transmission was from Sector TA. "URGENT!" flashed on the screen.

Her hands shook as she reached for the button that would accept the transmission. She had never done this. She wasn't allowed to. She, after all, was a lowly secretary, too unimportant to deal with the critical matters of the KND. She just filed these matters. The transmission was overridden; Numbuh Eleven Hundred was forced to listen to it.

All she could see was a Christmas tree that had been neglected to have been taken down. Instead, the children had just wrapped a "Happy New Year!" banner around it. But, she could also hear screaming-- lots of screaming. She heard various other sounds, too, like gunfire, the crushing of wood, etc. but the screaming stuck out the most to her. She had never heard such screaming before. It was more of a wail, actually, but it held the most sorrow she had ever heard.

Just as unexpectedly as it had started, the transmission flickered out. It left an empty, black screen. Christina just stared at it for a moment. The children had obviously been invaded, but on New Years Day? The KND had made a contract with the adults and teens before—The "We-Don't-Touch-You-On-Holidays-You-Don't-Touch-Us-On-Holidays" Treaty. Why would they break this contract when they had been loyal to it for years? And what was with the screaming? She had never heard such a cry. She couldn't imagine anything could be dreadful enough for someone to wail like _that_.

What was she doing? She was just standing there, thinking about useless things. This was just the sort of behavior she'd get yelled at for. But, who should she call? Who should she disturb? Most importantly, who would listen?


	3. Calling For Help

She decided to call Numbuh 86. Sure, she had a bad temper, but she also knew how to get the job done (mostly using threats and violent tactics.) She knew that of everyone she could contact, she would be the most determined about getting to the bottom of things.

She reached into a compartment of the humongous machine and pulled out a hefty book. This book contained the contact information of every registered KND Operative, from Numbuhs 1 to Infinity. Everyone was in here. She flipped a couple of pages until she found it. Ah-ha! Numbuh 86. Her house coordinates (where she would undoubtedly be,) were 1,154 North; 892 South; 349 West; and 932 East. Excellent. She typed in the numbers and gazed at the large monitor as it found her house.

There was confetti strewn all over the floor. She saw what must have been her younger brother, dancing in the background. Her other brother was picking up the scattered confetti on the ground and throwing it into the air again. Numbuh Eleven Hundred smiled as she surveyed the scene.

"What're yew grinnin' about?" Numbuh 86 appeared on the screen. Her strong, Irish accent was embedded in her speech.

"N-Number 86, sir, Madame, person, ma'am—," She sputtered. She was incredibly nervous. She had never spoken to someone of such rank before.

"Out with it!" Numbuh 86 shrieked.

"Uh, y-yeah… 'K-Kay…," She said quietly, but her words sped up, "So, there was this thing. And everyone was like 'Ahhhh!' and it sounded really bad, but I could hear other stuff, too, and it was really awful, but then everything went out and I thought 'Oh no!' but—,"

"Whaaaat?"

"I, uh, n-need your help, sir."

"Oh, no!" She barked, "I am NOT going to do anything tonight! Numbuh 362 told me _personally_ that I could have tonight off. I don't care what she wants me to do now, I'm not doing it! Transmission End."

The screen went black. Numbuh Eleven Hundred gaped at the vacant screen. She could try contacting others, but their reaction would just be the same. Besides, there needed to be something done _immediately_. She looked up at the glass ceiling and gazed at the twinkling stars outside. What would she do now?


	4. Enemy Breach

_Thanks for the wonderful reviews and the story subscribtion! I'm delighted (and amazed,) that you love my story._

_I keep re-reading and editing my chapters; I want to make sure they're just the way I want them when I go to upload them. So, heads up, it may take a month or longer to get my chapters up. (Sorry!)_

_Thanks for reading and keep checking back-- the story is just getting started!_

* * *

Numbuh Eleven Hundred stared at the unfamiliar controls. A button made out of the Scrabble letter "R", a button made out of muffin, a button made out of the metal hat Monopoly Piece… Oh, which one started this stupid machine? Or maybe it was one of these levers over here. She shuffled over to a variety of levers made of different items varying in shape and size. She paced as she thought, she always paced when she thought. She needed to make a decision _now_. They needed her help _now_. "Oh, which one?" she cried.

All KND Operatives are trained to fly vehicles, just in case their pilot is out cold and you're deserted on a remote island. (Boy, the KND think of everything, don't they?) Numbuh Eleven Hundred must've missed all that. She sure didn't remember a bit of it now. She had never been very good at remembering things, apparently. She had been rejected from so many sectors because of her lack of mechanics, physical strength, medical experience, stealth, etc. (all of which she was supposedly taught in basic training.) Kid's freedom was always at stake. Sectors fought the evils that were trying to make bedtimes earlier or (God forbid,) make mystery meat a permanent item on the school lunch menu. She just messed these missions up whenever she was involved, causing the adult society to advance even further. The only sector that truly "accepted" her turned out to be full of traitors or something.

She shook her head in disgust. She shouldn't be thinking about this right now. Out there were people that needed her help! She should be trying to figure out how to get this piece of junk off the ground rather than catching up with her memories. Wasn't there an instruction booklet for this thing or something?

"You," _bang_ "Stupid," _bang_ "Piece," _bang_ "Of," _bang_ "Junk!" The banging was the sound of her foot kicking the levers as she vented her frustration. She delivered one last, hard blow when she screamed "Junk!" Her kicking had moved them around a bit (as well as put a few dents into a couple of them.) She walked over to the front of the aircraft and rested her hands on the control panel, pressing down numerous buttons as she did, and sighed. _Ruuumm._ Her ears perked up. What was that she heard? It was a low humming growing louder and louder. Suddenly, everything came to life. Lights were flashing, the engine was roaring, and the monitor now flashed the words, "Ready to go." A smooth voice came out of the speakers (So this was one of those "more interactive" ships those engineers were bragging about,) assuring her that she'd be on her way as soon as she chose her destination and he (it sounded like a he,) offered her a beverage. She declined. She looked back at the monitor. It displayed a few technical choices. Numbuh Eleven Hundred browsed through the options and chose auto-pilot. She barely got this thing going, there was no way she could possibly fly it.

Every treehouse on the planet listed on the screen. She scrolled down to find Sector TA. The ship took off in an instant. She could even adjust the miles per hour she was going. A timer counted down from 17 minutes on the monitor. I guess that was the time it would take to get there going at this current speed. _Gee,_ she thought, _those engineers really know how to make a vehicle._

She comfortably took off, looking out the window at the sparkling stars as she did. She would go there, find out what was wrong, report back, and save those kids. At last, she would get the attention and reverence she deserved. Everyone would adore her and she'd finally get out from behind that dumb desk. Maybe she could even become supreme leader in the next game of tag. "Yeah, that would be nice," she said under her breath. Numbuh Eleven Hundred sat back in her chair and perched her arms behind her head as she basked in these thoughts of glory, admiration, and respect.

As she left, an alarm went off. A loud siren could be heard all about the moonbase. Messages were sent to all sectors and the private communicators of important figures in the KND Organization. The monitor used to accept transmissions on the Moonbase even flashed the words. The message said: "STOLEN SHIP – ENEMY BREACH"


End file.
